


Arc 1 - The Tattoo

by Joe_Reaves



Series: Huminals [2]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not Human, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Animals, Centaurs, M/M, Tattoos, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-14
Updated: 2010-04-14
Packaged: 2017-10-08 22:57:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joe_Reaves/pseuds/Joe_Reaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Warrick got his tattoo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arc 1 - The Tattoo

Warrick stretched out and got comfortable, leaning back on his arms so that the artist could work more easily on his chest. He couldn't lay flat because of his wings, so he had to improvise and the artist was going to have to give him breaks so that his arms didn't give out. There was a fire burning inside the tent and the artist had thrown some herbs onto it before getting ready to start on the tattoo. Warrick probably should have been able to identify them from the smell but he wasn't very good at herbs unless he was cooking with them. He thought he should feel guilty about that since the tattoo would mark his acceptance as a shaman of the tribe, but he didn't. He knew where his strengths lay and they didn't direct themselves towards healing or spiritual ceremonies. He was a shaman because of his gifts, not because of his knowledge. He preferred to think of himself as a warrior who could see things rather than as a shaman who could shoot.

Closing his eyes he breathed deeply, relaxing into a trance-like state as the artist worked. He thought about everything the tattoo meant to him. The design was the artist's but he had been allowed to make suggestions about what he'd like it to symbolise. He couldn't actually point to any specific part of the design that meant anything but the overall effect had felt right to him. He wasn't sure he would be able to explain what he meant by that if anyone asked him, but the artist and the chief shaman had seemed to understand and approve of the sentiment.

To Warrick the tattoo wasn't just about what he was becoming but what he had always been and everything that had led him to this place and time. His earliest memories were of slavery, of growing up, separated from his parents, surrounded by people who were nothing like him. People who didn't have wings or feathers, who couldn't fly, and who never ever woke up in the middle of the night certain that they'd just seen the future.

From what he had learned of his race's history, they had been bred for their wings, their eyesight, and their formidable intelligence. The corporations had hoped that by merging human and raven DNA they would be able to harness the power of flight without risking ending up with really stupid winged creatures, but they'd ended up with certain powers that they hadn't expected and didn't really know what to do with.

Ravens had always been seen as mystical birds by all the cultures that knew of them, but until the raven huminals had been created, the scientists had dismissed this as simple native credulity and superstition. Then they'd brought their new creatures into existence and found that they almost universally had empathic, telepathic, or precognitive powers. Some had all three.

There were two schools of thought about what to do with this unexpected skill. One group of scientists wanted to get rid of those abilities through selective breeding. It was unpredictable and couldn't readily be harnessed and as such it was a flaw and unnecessary. But another group wanted to try and use their breeding program to strengthen the abilities and to increase the number of ravens born with all three talents. In the end it hadn't mattered; the abilities had stubbornly clung on despite the best efforts of the first group and remained utterly random no matter what the second group tried. In the end, their human owners mostly chose to ignore the skills and pretend they didn't exist, with the occasional exception who thought his new slave should be able to help him win the lottery or clean up at the race track and was inevitably furious when he found out it didn't work like that.

As he'd got older he'd learned how to interpret his dreams and how to take advantage of the hints they gave him. When he was sixteen, he'd finally managed to put that knowledge to use and escaped from his owner's home through a door which had accidentally been left unlocked and had gone unnoticed by everyone except one skinny teenage raven who had seen it in his dreams the night before.

He'd fled into the countryside and had been on his own for several weeks, eating whatever he could forage and hiding from the people travelling along the trade route he was following. He didn't dare leave the road completely in case he got lost and never found his way out of the desert. For the first time in his life, he'd dreamed every night instead of just occasionally and his dreams had led him along the road and then out, across the desert, until he found a small village, nestled in the foothills of the mountain range that divided the continent.

It had been settled in the early days of the planet's history, just as the corporations were starting to take over politics back on earth and were beginning to dominate the era of exploration and colonisation of the stars. Most of the settlers here had been of the race the humans called 'Native Americans'. Distinctions like that had died out around the time that huminals had started to be more common. No need to hate people of a different colour and history to yourself when you could hate and discriminate against a whole new race. Some groups though, like the settlers in this region of their planet, didn't see things that way though and they certainly didn't see huminals as inferior. They saw them as the embodiment of the animal spirits that their ancestors had told stories about and when huminals had started to escape from their masters and live free in the wilderness, they had been welcomed with open arms in this village and a mixed human and huminal community had emerged.

His dreams had led him here to these people and it was here he had intended to remain for the rest of his life, but lately his dreams had taken another path and he was beginning to see that the future held something different in store for him.

He shifted restlessly and the artist stopped work, letting him get up and walk around for a few minutes, shaking the stiffness out of his arms. When they were done here and the tribe had officially recognised him as a new shaman, he was going to have to take some time with Nick and talk about the dreams and what they might mean. Nick had grown up with the tribe and his parents and siblings all lived here; he wasn't sure Nick would want to leave with him. They needed to talk, because the dreams were starting to become more urgent and the itch inside him to follow them was becoming unbearable.

He lay back down and closed his eyes again. He hadn't looked at the tattoo yet. He wanted to see it for the first time when it was finished, not when it was incomplete. He wanted the full effect. The smoke swirled around him and he breathed it in, letting his mind wander again.

When his dreams had led him away from the trade route and out into the desert, he had been scared. He didn't have anything with him to carry food or water and he was living on what he could find from day to day. Out in the desert, water would be harder to find and he was scared that he would die because he didn't know where the hidden springs were, but the dreams were insistent that this was the way he needed to go and he couldn't ignore them. Without the dreams he would still be a slave.

The first couple of days were hard but he found a creek that he could use to sate his thirst, but as he ventured into the hills it was harder to see the water he needed. Out in the flat expanse of the desert he could see for miles from the air and with the sun glinting off of it water was easy to spot, but in the hills it was harder. He couldn't see into the valleys unless he actually flew over them and the increasing numbers of plants and trees along with the shadows from the hills themselves made it difficult to work out what it was he was seeing.

Eventually he'd had to land. He wasn't strong enough to keep flying without food and water. He'd kept walking as long as he could and then he'd sat down on the grass and given up all hope of ever finding his way to wherever it was the dreams wanted him to go. He'd stretched out in the shade of a tree and gone to sleep totally despondent, but he'd woken to the sound of hooves galloping along the valley floor. Forcing himself to his feet, he'd looked around frantically for the source of the sound. Where there were animals, there must be water, he'd reasoned.

Then he'd seen him; coming around a bend in the valley there was a mustang with the upper body of a human. He'd never seen a horse huminal before; they were uncommon in towns and cities for obvious reasons. Most of them belonged to farmers or traders who could best harness their strength and speed. He'd waved his arms, hoping to attract the huminal's attention and been relieved when it had instantly turned to run towards him.

Nick, the mustang, was about his age, but a lot taller due to his lower half being that of a horse. His upper body was tanned and his lower half was a dramatic mix of black and white patches. When he'd heard Warrick's story, he'd helped him up on his back and taken him back to the village he lived in.

He remembered his first sight of the village. It was nestled amongst the hills and there were brightly coloured tents scattered along the lower slopes. Then on the flat expanse of the valley floor there were horses grazing and chickens wandering around freely. There were also small fenced off areas where plants were being grown. The people were a mix of humans and huminals of many different species. Warrick had never seen humans and huminals living alongside each other without the huminals being collared and kept as slaves. He could hardly believe that this idyllic picture was real and for the first few days he'd been there he'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop, trying to find out what deep, dark, secret these people were hiding from him. But there was nothing to discover. It was a peaceful community of humans and huminals working together to help each other.

They'd welcomed the new arrival as they had many other escaped slaves over the years and found him a place to live and a role to fulfil. When they had learned of his dreams, the shaman had taken him in and insisted on teaching him their ways. It had become obvious that other than his dreams he was more suited to physical activity than mystical knowledge, but they'd accepted that too and he'd begun to make a place for himself in this strange tribe. Today was the culmination of that journey, his acceptance as a shaman and a full member of the village instead of just a student.

The artist stopped work and stepped back, admiring his work proudly. Warrick looked up at him and he nodded once. "It is done."

He stood up and walked over to the mirror, picking it up and examining his new tattoo in it. It was new so it wasn't all that pretty to look at right now, but he could see the shape and form that it would have eventually, once it had healed. He smiled. It was just as he had imagined and yet better because it was his now rather than just a design on a piece of paper.

Thanking the artist he stepped out of the tent and into the bright sunlight outside. The tribal shaman bowed to him, acknowledging him as an equal, and Warrick bowed back, grinning happily. A crowd began to gather, wanting to get a look at his new design, but he only had eyes for one person in it. He strode over to where Nick was waiting patiently for him and kissed him softly before stepping back so that Nick could look at the tattoo properly.

"Well?" he asked. "What do you think?"

Nick smiled broadly. "It's perfect. It suits you." He smiled again and took Warrick's hand, drawing him away from the crowd and over towards their tent. The tent they had only moved into three weeks ago after his parents had given their relationship their blessing. Once they were inside, he looked at Warrick again and pulled something out of his pocket.

"Red Fox gave me this while you were getting the tattoo done," he said, handing Warrick a soft, grey feather. "He said it would symbolise the journey we were going to undertake together. I'm supposed to ask you about it."

Warrick ran his hand through his dreadlocks. "I should have known he'd interfere rather than waiting for me to be ready. For a shaman that man has no patience whatsoever. I was going to talk to you about it after dinner tonight."

"We're leaving, aren't we?" Nick asked. "Tell me now and then we can break it to my parents this evening. They'll be less likely to make a scene while we're eating; it would set a bad example for the kids."

Warrick smiled a little and then looked serious again. "I know your whole family are here, Nick, and I don't want to take you away from that. I won't blame you if you don't want to come, but my dreams are back again. I keep seeing the mountains and a grey hawk. Whenever I close my eyes these days, it seems I see golden eyes watching me. I need to travel up into the mountains and find him. I don't know who he is or what it means, but he needs our help. It's important that I go."

"You said us," Nick pointed out. "He needs us, not you. Besides I'm not letting you wander off on your own; you nearly died the last time you tried travelling through the mountains without me and we belong together. We won't be gone forever, will we? I mean, we can come back and visit my folks even if we never live in the village again, right? Or is there something else you're not telling me, some deep, dark foreboding shadow that's going to fall over us?"

Warrick laughed softly. "No shadows, I promise, Nick. I wouldn't let you come if I thought anything bad was going to happen."

"I'd like to see you stop me," Nick said stubbornly. "Where you go, I go. That's what couples do. You're not alone any more and you have to stop acting like you are."

"You're right, I'm sorry," Warrick apologised. "Will you come with me when I follow my dream? Help me find the grey bird and see what he needs from us. It feels important, like our being there will make a difference, not just to us or to the bird, but to everyone."

"Well, how can I possibly resist an offer like that?" Nick asked with a grin. "Come with me and change the world. Sounds like fun." He ran his hands through Warrick's hair. "Together, Warrick. We go together and when we find this grey bird of yours we'll talk him into coming back with us when we visit the family. Otherwise mom will be likely to come after us so she can check him out personally."

Laughing, Warrick leaned up to kiss him again. "Your family are very intimidating sometimes; we don't want to scare him off. I think he's been alone a long time. But we'll talk him into a visit somehow. He's going to be important to us as well, I feel it, so it's only right he meets them." He looked around the tent. "We've only been here three weeks but I'm going to miss it."

Nick smacked his head lightly. "The settlers who founded our village were travellers, Warrick. We can take the tent with us. It's designed to be packed up and carried and in case you hadn't noticed, I'm designed for carrying things. We can pack our clothing and the tent along with our supplies and take it all with us into the mountains."

Warrick grinned in delight. "Like taking a piece of home with us. Have I told you how much I love you today?"

"Hmm, no I don't think you have," Nick mused. "Why don't you take me down to the waterfall and show me before dinner?"

Warrick pulled him out of the tent, still smiling broadly and jumped up on his back. "Sounds like a plan, Nicky. Let's go. I suddenly have all kinds of things I feel like showing you."

Nick chuckled and started trotting through the village, speeding up as they passed the last tents and galloping across the grass towards the creek and the waterfall and letting out a shout of exhilaration as he ran, making Warrick hold his shoulders tightly as they ran. He'd known Warrick's tattoo meant a change from one part of his life to another, but he hadn't realised how much change would be involved. He'd never left his village before other than to explore the nearest couple of valleys, and he was slightly nervous about travelling further afield, but he'd have Warrick with him and he was excited about following this dream of his and finding the grey bird, whoever or whatever that turned out to be. Today was the day everything was going to change and he found that that idea thrilled him more than it scared him. As long as he was with Warrick, the future was going to be an adventure.


End file.
